“So do I,” Beau agreed. “It’s a lot worse than it was when I started working here seven years ago. The homeless camped outside seem more aggressive when we leave at night.” There were a lot of younger ones in the mix, who were clearly on drugs and desperate for money. They didn’t bother anyone in the daytime, and disappeared then, but they were back en masse at night, camping outside. None of the employees had gotten hurt, but local residents had, late at night and on weekends. Brooke’s security team was vigilant in the daytime, and looked out for the neighbors too.
“It might be good for business if we move uptown,” Marcy suggested cautiously. She knew how attached Spencer was to anything her grandfather had set up, and the building was part of that mystique, even if inconveniently located for much of their staff and many of their customers.
“I’d really hate to move,” Spencer said. “This building is iconic.” Marcy didn’t want to argue the point with her, although she thought the problem of their location was bad for business.
“Our customers might like it if we moved farther uptown, maybe even to another historic building with some character. It could bring us a flood of new customers who don’t know the store and don’t come downtown. Or a location even farther downtown, like to Soho,” which was so trendy and fashionable now.
“It would probably cost us a fortune,” Spencer said. But it was more about nostalgia for her than money, as they all knew.
After the meeting, Beau gave her a printout about the event at the Met that evening. It was to benefit an art introduction class for inner city kids in the metropolitan area. There were to be three hundred of the Met’s most elite and generous supporters at the party. Seats were ten thousand dollars per person, and they had given her two free tickets.
“I wonder why they invited me,” Spencer mused as she glanced at it. The guest list of those who had accepted was included on a separate sheet. She didn’t bother to look at it, sure that she wouldn’t know anyone there. The guests were among the city and the museum’s biggest donors.
“You’re an important person,” Beau said to her. “Brooke’s is an institution and a legend. The name has been important in retail for more than a century. I’m surprised you don’t get invited to things like this more often.”
“I throw everything out,” she said sheepishly. “I’m not going to spend twenty thousand for an evening, even for a charity event. I’d be broke if I did, although it’s a good cause.”
“Well, have fun tonight. There will be press there and you’re going to look fabulous. Who’s doing your hair and makeup?” Spencer laughed at the question.
“Same person who does it every day. Me.”
“You don’t want to get someone to do it? I can set it up for you,” he offered.
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled at him. Spencer had never been someone who loved attention. She preferred to be behind the scenes, in the shadows, not in the spotlight.
She left the store at five to have a little time at home with the boys before getting ready at six, and Bill was picking her up at seven-thirty in a cab to ride uptown. The invitation was for eight o’clock for cocktails, with seated dinner at nine. She hoped they would seat Bill next to her, since she wouldn’t know anyone else there.
She was ready promptly when Bill picked her up. He looked dashing in his dinner jacket, black satin bow tie, and impeccable white tuxedo shirt. He cleaned up well and she smiled when he came to the door. Francine let him in. The boys were already upstairs in their room in pajamas, and Spencer was wearing the beautiful pale gold dress.
“Wow! You look great,” Bill said, admiring her. She had worn her hair in a loose low bun at the nape of her neck, and the diamond earrings she had inherited from her grandmother and rarely got a chance to wear. They were simple round studs. She had done her makeup carefully and used very little. Her own natural beauty shone through and lit up her face. She was wearing the gold stole over the dress, and the high heels Beau had picked for her. She looked very glamorous, and very different from how Bill usually saw her, in jeans and a sweater after work, or one of the sober black suits she’d worn at the store if she hadn’t changed. “We should do this more often.” Not for twenty thousand dollars a pop, she thought but didn’t say. “I think the owner of the agency is going to be there tonight. He’s a big donor to the Met.” Bill wondered if Spencer was too. She hadn’t told him that the tickets had been given to her for free.